


Crime City

by Narjen



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Utopia, Blood and Violence, Corruption, Crimes & Criminals, Death, M/M, Multi, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slavery, Trauma, social classes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:55:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29909697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narjen/pseuds/Narjen
Summary: Anarchy rules Crime City, the slums far away from the main city, where criminals, dissidents of the crown and social outcast get exiled to.After his parents’ execution, Tweek flees to Crime City, where he has to learn to survive.Craig has learnt from a young age that in Crime City, the weak don’t live long and that the strong don’t necessarily have to be merciful.
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 0 — Prologue**

  
A flood of people of all social classes - from peasants to merchants and aristocrats - had gathered in the heart of South Park City, awaiting — with growing impatience — the execution of the two defendants recently found guilty of high treason.

Two very large and heavily armed soldiers, cladded in navy blue uniforms with the town's emblem embroidered on the chest, dragged a man with brown hair and torn robes, which despite their poor condition showed his aristocratic status, up the stairs forcefully, pushing him forward by the neck whilst his arms and legs were in chains, ignoring his pleas.

He was in bad shape, with massive splotches of discolouration spreading across his skin. His right eye was closed shut from the swelling, and one of his arms was mangled, prodding out in an unnatural direction; the man had to be in excruciating pain.

“This pointless persecution has to end. We are not the enemy; opposition should not be confused with treason,” he said; his voice hoarse from dehydration and his breathing laboured.

Another person, a blonde woman, had also been led up the scaffold and was then pressed to the ground right next to the brunette.

She was sobbing and crying; makeup ruined, and the crowd was chanting loudly: _Kill the traitors_

Amidst the mob, with his face hidden behind a hood, stood a boy, watching with horror the scene unfolding in front of him.

He felt an agonising tightness in his chest, and he wanted his body to move into action, but he remained rooted on the spot, rigid and tense.

He wanted to scream, but no sound left his lips as the words dried out and got stuck in his throat, and he couldn't even tear his eyes away.

Sir Milton, mayor of the city and the 12th member of the council stepped up, raising his hand to silence the crowd.

“The court has found Richard Tweak, 11th member of the council, and Helen Tweak guilty and hereby sentences them both to death.” His voice boomed through the streets, and upon the announcement, another chorus of passionate cheers erupted.

Tweek’s eyes widened as he pawed at the front of his cloak, mouth dry.

“Any last words?” Sir Milton asked the convicts, his gaze cold.

Richard Tweek looked up, meeting the eyes of the very man he thought of as a friend. They were both member of the council, and like any council member, they inherited the position from their parents.

His eyes travelled to the rest of the ten council members and the royal family, looking down from the balcony right on to the place of his and his wife’s execution.

“If having mercy is enough to be executed for, then I will gladly accept death. You may silence me, but the truth will come out, eventually.” His eyes lingered on his old mate before they landed on the disguised boy amidst the crowd.

The mayor signalled with his hand for the executioner to drop the cleaver.

Tweek saw the small smile that his father flashed him before the sharp instrument came down, cutting more than just air. A hand was placed over the blonde’s face, and he was carried away by a man he didn't know, peeking through the cracks of his sweaty, thick fingers.

“I promised your father to get you across the border,” the man said, his deep voice reminding him of his father whose lifeless body had dropped to the floor, blood spilling out of where his head was detached from the rest of his body.

“They didn't even get a fair trial,” Tweek choked out, tears silently streaming down his face.

His parents got arrested just yesterday, dragged out of their house at night, only to be interrogated (tortured) and executed the next day after a flimsy trial had taken place; a trial that was nothing but a farce for the verdict, and the outcome had been decided upon before the beginning of the trial.

“I know,” the man whispered, tightening his hold around the boy.

Tweek could hear his mother’s cries, but soon her voice died down and was replaced by a strangled choke. He could imagine what happened to her. It took him some time to grasp the situation, remembering what his mother had told him the night before.

“Don't trust the council nor the royal family. They are lying about everything.”

He didn't know what she was talking about; he didn't know what the council and the royal family could be lying about because his mother didn't elaborate. With his mother and father killed, the only thing certain was Tweek being an orphan from this day on. He had nothing but the clothes on his body and a few cold coins in his pockets.


	2. Crossing the Border

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update!

Tweek pressed his body against the cold stone wall, clasping both his hands over his mouth to stifle his ragged breathing. His father's friend, whom he still did not know the name of, had his large hand on Tweek's rip cage, pushing him into the wall to prevent him from bolting and blowing their cover.

Soldiers were patrolling the streets of South Park City, looking for the traitors’ son, asking the citizens if they had seen Tweek; Tweek who was deemed guilty merely by association.

The blonde boy gulped down a large amount of air, and his breath hitched when he heard the clattering of keys on the soldiers’ belts and their boots clomping over the pavement. They were drawing closer with every step.

Tweek watched the soldiers walk past them, unaware of the two figures hiding in the shadows in a narrow lane between the buildings. His helper pointed at the carriage on the other side of the street next to the well.

“Follow me.” He mouthed the two words and grabbed Tweek's arm, waiting for the right moment; timing was everything.

The street was still busy, with people going about their daily routine as if they hadn't just witnessed an execution. In fact, the high council reinforced the death penalty only 15 years ago, and the public had been in great favour, thinking it was what the justice system needed to deter people from committing crimes. However, dissidents were sentenced to death on a disproportionately high scale.

A rush of sickening anxiety pooled in the pits of Tweek's stomach when they speed-walked to the carriage, right past the soldiers.

The blonde pulled the hood further down, shrinking in on himself.

“Just act normal. We don't want to draw attention.”

Tweek nodded, swallowing hard. He could still feel the frantic pounding of his heart, and this very organ which kept him alive, was about to jump out of his chest when he heard the deep voice of a soldier right behind him.

“Hold up,” the soldier said, and Tweek froze and so did his father's friend. “You lost your pouch, My lady.” The soldier passed by them, and a young woman wearing a silk-dress and expensive jewellery turned around.

“Thank you, officer,” she said, flipping her braided long dark hair, adorned with rare flowers, back over her shoulder, offering the soldier a sweet smile. She was definitely a woman of status.

A faint blush dusted the officers cheeks as he gave her a curt nod, handing her the coin pouch. The coins were clinking in the pouch during the handover. “You are welcome, My Lady.”

Tweek and his helper seized the moment and disappeared behind the carriage. The blonde exhaled loudly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He was pulled into another corner, where another figure was already waiting, leaning against the wall of the building with one foot propped against it.

“You got the money,” she asked, pulling the hood down to reveal her face. Her eyes landed on Tweek, who promptly looked away, intimidated by the scrutinising gaze of the middle-aged woman with straight black hair.

“Of course,” the man said, pulling out a pouch, “here.” He threw it at her.

The dark-haired woman counted the gold coins — 20 Decem — and a pleased smile stretched over her face. “Good. I will bring him to the border. That is all I am willing to do.”

In South Park City, people paid with Coins, whose value was based on the metal used. There were five kinds of coins (one made of gold, two made of silver, and two made of brass) with different emblems engraved. 20 gold coins were a little fortune, and the majority of people living in South Park City paid with coins made of brass or silver.

“That is not what we agreed on, Margaret.”

“I will not risk to be executed for the likes of you.”

“I paid you, so you ought to keep your part of the deal.”

Tweek felt dizzy watching them argue in a quiet whisper right in front of him. He felt lonely, and every time he closed his eyes, the image of his decapitated parents haunted his mind. He didn't even have time to mourn, and the shock was still running deep. It was surreal.

He bit his lips and held back the tears as he remembered the bright cranberry red seeping from his dead father’s neck while his head rolled next to him, his mouth slack and eyes wide open. It made Tweek sick.

“Fine,” the woman said, “I will bring him to an inn, but it will cost another 20 Decem.” She stretched her hand out, waiting for the other to agree to the new terms.

The man pulled another bundle of gold coins out of his pocket, handing it over with a growl.

“Follow me, boy.”

Tweek hesitated but nodded his head, taking one last glance at the person who had helped him, waving at him.

“We need to make it there before night falls. I hope you can keep up with my pace, for I will not hesitate to leave you behind,” Margaret said, speeding down the narrow alley, heading towards South Park City’s slums.

Tweek had to breathe through his nose because he would surely throw up once the odour of urine and decomposing animals entered his nose. The blonde didn't know which border he was to cross, since there were two: Crime City in the West and North Town in the North. Tweek would prefer the latter, even though North Town was also governed by the Council.

* * *

  
  
The sun was setting when they crossed the border to Crime City by boat. Crime City had the form of a hexagon and stretched over six square miles. Anarchy ruled the city, and the crime rate was the highest in the Empire. It was a place to which the council sent the dissidents and criminals, knowing it was a death sentence. Tweek knew nothing more than that, though, because he had never bothered giving it deeper thought. His father had been a member of the council, discussing politics with the other eleven members before presenting their proposals to the royal family, whose head had the final and crucial vote.

Tweek crawled out of the rocking boat, still feeling a little seasick. His destination wasn't far, but his stomach twisted into knots upon thinking about the possible dangers.

The air smelled of water, and in the distance he could hear a waterfall, but it only made matters worse.

Margaret secured the boat by tying the rope around the thick log of a tree, her feet soaked and muddy. Tweek too could feel the humidity on the soles of his feet, his toes freezing and squelching sounds came from the inside of his shoes. Even though it was spring, temperatures could vary largely and suddenly drop at night. This wasn't case this late evening, though.

Tweek pulled the hood from his head, so the wind could ruffle through his blonde locks. He ran his finger over the rough bark of a tree, memorising the texture. It was an old tree, its crown reaching high into the sky, casting an enormous shadow over them.

His mother's words echoed in his head, confusing him once again. Would he spend the rest of his life on the run? What was he supposed to do? Would he even make it? The thought scared him. He had no source of income and didn't know anyone there. He had never thought he’d ever find himself in this kind of situation. The prospect of having nothing after living his entire life in luxury was hard to grasp and still wouldn't go into Tweek's head.

“Get going,” the woman barked at him, and Tweek followed, not once uttering a word. Her dislike for him was quite obvious, and the blonde sometimes wondered if he had somehow offended her.

Tweek tried to keep up with her as good as he could, but the wet, high grass and uneven ground were making it difficult. He wasn't the tallest either, and with the farm reaching to his chest, he felt like drowning.

They entered Crime City, and there was something serene about the place, a veil of mystery. The streets were empty, and for a moment Tweek wondered if the city’s bad reputation was just a rumour.

When he heard the first round of gunshots, however, he suddenly realised the severity of his situation. He was an orphan with nothing but a few coins in his pouch and expensive clothes on his body. He used to be carefree, but with his parents’ death, he not only lost his home but also the future memories of them together.

Tweek cowered on the ground, covering his head with his arms and trying to make himself as small as possible. He looked up and saw Margaret was gone.

The blonde jumped up from the cold ground, frantically turning his head while screams and further shots resonated from the walls, making it hard to pinpoint where the shots were coming from.

Then he saw the woman ran past him in the direction from which they came.

“WAIT! You were supposed to take me to an Inn.” Tweek's voice was shaking, hoarse and conveying nothing but desperation and fear.

“You’re on your own now.” Her tone was as cold as her expression.

Tweek watched in horror as she left him in the middle of the street.

Then, he felt a presence behind him; a presence that made his blood run cold. Slowly, Tweek turned his head.

His breath hitched when he saw the large grin plastered on the face of a hairy man at least trice his size, looming over him with a bloody axe in his hand. Two other men equal in size stood behind the bearded guy, looking as crazy with their blood-stained clothes.

One wore a white mask, resembling a bag, with a smiley face painted on it, over his head, and the other one was lanky, bald and had big ears.

Tweek squeaked, skirting away from the man with bloodshot eyes and foul, yellow teeth.

“What do we have here? You must be loaded, since you wear such nice clothes.” The bearded man said, a nasty grin splitting his unpleasant face.

“Leave me alone!” Tweek's eyes were fixated on the axe and the crimson blood dripping from the sharp peak of the axe, reminding him of the pool of blood his father and mother had been laying in.

“I wonder how pretty you’d scream while I slowly gut you,” the masked guy asked, his maniac laughter ringing in Tweek's ears.

The blonde was scared, and his body was trembling as the tears streamed down his face. He was so scared; he thought his lungs were about to collapse from his heavy breathing.

His back hit the wall, and he tried to morph into it, scooting away without moving from the spot because he couldn't pass through walls. Tweek's mouth was dry, and his breath hitched when the bearded man crouched down, staring at him with malice and a glint of excitement in his eyes.

“We’ll have a lot of fun,” he said, grabbing Tweek by the face. His grip was hard and bruising, but the blonde’s attempts to push him off were in vain.

The three guys laughed, “Look at him!” Then Tweek was picked up and thrown to the ground.

He landed on his back, and the pain shot through his body, immobilising him for a moment, making him gasp for air as his ears started ringing and his head spinning.

“Let's see what you look like with a cracked skull!” The axe was swung at Tweek, and he barely had time to evade the attack. He could hear the weapon cut the air, and his heart thumbed hard behind his chest. The axe left a crack in the ground.

His attacker was looming over him again, his face showing the sick glee. Tweek crouched into himself, covering his eyes, waiting for the blow that would end his life. The blow, however, never came because a fourth voice interrupted the scene.

“Let him go.” The voice was deep, nasally even, but Tweek couldn't really see the person’s face through his teary eyes.

“Fuck off!” The bearded man said, glaring at the disturber, “I am busy. I get to you when I am done here.” The man licked the blood from the axe.

The blonde shrieked when the face of the axe-wielding guy suddenly slammed into the wall, jaw cracking from the impact. Tweek watched as the man's head was smashed into the wall a second and third time.

“Let's how your skull looks cracked open,” the raven-haired boy said, knocking the other's head into the wall once again while the other two men fled.

Then, the raven grabbed the hairy guy by the hair, pulling him back to expose his throat, running the pointy end of the knife down his bobbing Adam’s apple to his ribcage, stopping at his stomach. “I wonder how pretty you'd scream when I gut you.”

The bearded man was shaking, groaning through laboured breaths. “P-P-Please,” he said, voice trembling in fear.

The raven-haired boy, whom Tweek dubbed his saviour, huffed and smashed the guy's head into the ground, where he remained motionless.

He looked at Tweek, his face void of of emotion, his sky-blue eyes meeting blonde’s forest-green ones.

Tweek sucked in a breath. Through his teary eyes, he could see how handsome he was, perfectly fitting the Greek aesthetic. The boy was about his age, maybe older, and at least one head taller than Tweek. He wore black pants made of cotton, a loose-fitting shirt, a cloak and black chin-trap that accentuated his sharp jawline.

“Don't leave me,” Tweek said, his voice small and begging. He grabbed on to the ravenette’s cloak, knuckles turning white.

The blonde flinched when the taller boy’s cold eyes look down on him, but Tweek didn't want to let go. He was scared; scared of the city, scared of the people and scared of those cold eyes staring him down.

“Do you want to lose your fingers? Let go.” His voice and face were neutral, making it hard for Tweek to read him.

Tweek’s hood tightened, arm trembling, “please, don't go. Don't go.” Tears streamed freely from his eyes as he pulled on the cloak. The black-haired boy made him feel safe. Tweek didn't want to be alone. It was dark, and no lantern was lighting the streets; only the moon casting its shimmer over them. The wind was howling through the pitch-dark alleys that screamed danger. “Please,” Tweek said, voice dying down. He had no place to stay and nowhere to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave comments and kudos!
> 
> Next update: 23.03.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, leave comments and kudos!<3
> 
> Next Chapter: 18.03.


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